Regarding My Quick Takes on Being the 47% (I)

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This is going to be a multi-part entry because there were a lot of comments that need to be addressed. I know that Cari’s comment needs to be its own post and it’s also early in the weekend so there may be other comments that need addressing.

The first thing I want to do is let you know what happened, what programs we’re still part of, and why.

2009: Daniel is born at 29.5 weeks. As we knew we’d be looking at a massive hospital bill for him, the NICU social worker advised us to file for SSI for him which would also make him eligible for Medicaid. Based on his birth weight (1 lb 15 oz.), he was also eligible for Social Security to write off whatever insurance did not cover of his NICU bill.

2010: We moved from Montana to California after Jon’s parish situation deteriorated. We went through our savings in about two months and ended up applying for WIC, food stamps, and Medicaid for the three of us. (We had lost Medicaid for Daniel when SSA discovered an error.) We were granted WIC but our caseworker screwed up on the food stamps and Medicaid. Jon eventually got a youth pastor position which helped a bit and started working for his parents. He also supply-preached and did funerals which also helped. (Funeral homes will frequently have pastors on-call in case a family doesn’t have a church but would like a religious funeral for their loved one.) In September, he was called to Metanoia as the interim pastor. Meanwhile, I applied for Healthy Families (California’s S-CHIP) and Medicaid for Daniel. Straight Medicaid was denied but they’d kick something in after something like $1300/month. Healthy Families was denied because you had to be without insurance for a specific period of time before you were eligible. (My mom, God bless her, paid our insurance premiums so that there would be no lapse in coverage — neither Daniel nor I could be without insurance and until last year, Daniel was uninsurable.) We also got hooked up with the Regional Center (California’s agency for developmental disabilities). In November, I reapplied for SSI for Daniel as his developmental delays qualified him.

2011: Jon was called to Metanoia full-time in January and we moved up to northern California in February. His income was still under the threshold for WIC so we transferred up here. A week and a half after moving up here, Daniel ended up in the hospital for three weeks. The hospital social workers hooked me up with California Childrens’ Services which required me to apply for Medicaid. We were granted Medicaid which would kick in after $500 in medical costs per month. Meanwhile, SSI chugged through and I had to go into the office in the town to the south of us and get that squared away. It took two months and learning how to harass the right people but Daniel finally got approved and we were granted retroactive SSI and retroactive Medicaid. California Childrens’ Services paid for his hematology appointments and his Lovenox while he still required shots and we got things transferred to the Regional Center up here who are the epitome of awesomeness. They covered physical/occupational/speech/infant program through Easter Seals and one independent contractor. Daniel’s clot (from his central line during his hospitalization in March) disappears and we’re able to be kicked out of the hematology practice and California Childrens’ Services.

2012: Daniel turns three which means that the local school district is now in charge of speech/occupational therapy. He is diagnosed with autism (thank you to the Regional Center for paying for the testing) and is in an ABA classroom. We’re still hooked up with the Regional Center and are trying to get an in-home program in place. We’re also still hooked up with WIC and will be until our income is higher than the threshold or until Daniel turns 5.

OK… onto addressing comments!

From Stacy (who, by the way, is a social worker and knows her stuff):

I get SO ANGRY when people talk about those who abuse the system. For every one person who is abusing it, I’m sure there are 100+ who aren’t. Not to mention that the system is set up for people to you know…. not really be able to get out of it! Sooo frustrating. On another note, our Medicaid/food stamp office is BEAUTIFUL. I’ve never seen anything like it but it makes me so happy that the people going there for help don’t have to feel like they need to go on antibacterials afterward.

Granted, I’m seriously mysophobic so the anti-bacterials are a given with me. However, part of the problem is that a number of programs are housed at the DPSS in Pomona and the DHHS in Sacramento and they’re both located in seriously urban areas so they get a lot of traffic. I think if I went at the moment they opened, it would be less nasty for me. (OK… I’ve actually done that with the DPSS and it was still nasty.) The WIC office I go to in northern California is beautiful and clean (and located within walking distance from me) so that’s actually a positive. The one in southern California was not bad but it was overused so it got yucky.

From Jen:

What??s sad/true is that you have to be somewhat well-educated/literate in English to be able to wade through the bureaucracy, including knowing where to get official documents, how to correctly fill out the forms, etc. My husband sees a lot of this in his line of work??with former incarcerated men trying to re-enter the community. They aren??t well educated, they don??t have certain common sense skills (like how to start looking for their birth certificate) and there??s little to no help in teaching them these types of things (that a lot of us take for granted), so it??s no wonder why many of them end up back in prison. Because it??s easier. The staff at the halfway houses and re-entry programs can only do so much to assist, but there??s not enough time, money, staff, etc. Vicious cycle.

Having done prison ministry, I can attest to this. A lot of the men I dealt with when I’d go into the local prison in Montana (a for-profit medium security prison housing inmates for the state of Montana) were from disadvantaged backgrounds so they were there after making some really bad decisions. I could totally see me going in and teaching a class in how to do all these things but I stopped going in after getting pregnant because of the potential to be taken hostage while in the prison. Granted, it’s not even the most intuitive process for those of us on the outside to do things like getting a copy of a marriage certificate because it requires knowing what county to contact and what’s needed to do so. I know it was really hard to get a copy of my birth certificate for a library card when I didn’t have a valid ID in Minnesota — I had to go to a parishioner who was a loan officer and had notary privileges to get stuff signed to make the request.

OK… heading to bed. Will write more tomorrow.

7 Quick Takes: Perks of Being Part of the 47%

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7 Quick Takes

Unless you happen to live under a rock, you’ve probably heard about Mitt’s “47%” gaffe. I am a member of that 47% so… I figured that as I’ve not hit my political snark quota this year due to promising not to badmouth any Republican candidate, I’d have some snark time now. 🙂 Here are my “7 perks of being part of the 47%”.

Oh yes… please sponsor me in the Run for Courage and please go love on Brett, my Reece’s Rainbow orphan. Thanks!

**PREREQUISITE WARNING: I am being sarcastic. Leaving me hateful comments and sending me hatemail will result in you being I.P. banned. If you are incapable of being civil or refraining from using my combox as your personal soapbox, you might want to skip this post in favor of something more palatable. — The Management**

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The Simple Woman’s Daybook: September 17, 2012

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Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY September 17, 2012

Outside my window… hopefully cooling down. It’s the 16th straight day of 90F or above and in 4 days, we will have set a record.

I am thinking… that friends don’t let friends read bad Twilight fanfic. (50 Shades started out as a fanfic piece based on the Twilight books.)

I am thankful… that Jon brought me home a sandwich from Subway — even if I did have to fight the 4 furballs to eat it in peace. (3 guesses as to what was in the sandwich.)

In the kitchen… spinach salad with feta and a balsamic vinagrette for lunch today.

I am wearing… Old Navy flag shirt and running shorts.

I am going… to hope Daniel doesn’t flip out on my laptop before I finish this entry.

I am wondering… if I get geek cred for having the theme song to “The Big Bang Theory” memorized.

I am reading… Bossypants by Tina Fey. Because, you know, I’m so up on the latest trends. /sarcasm

I am hoping… to get some formatting done on the devotional book this week.

I am looking forward to… seeing my evil twin and hopefully my sister-in-law this weekend.

Around the house… *putting my fingers in my ears* I can’t hear you!

A favorite quote for today… ??We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.?? — C.S. Lewis

One of my favorite things… sitting in a quiet chapel and listening to the birds sing.

A few plans for the rest of the week: Morning Prayer, working on the devotional book, and a barbeque with my evil twin and (hopefully!!!) my sister-in-law for the autumnal equinox.

Hosted by The Simple Woman’s Daybook

Something Not Quite Right About Us

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My friend, the priest’s wife at Remnant of Remnant, did her Quick Takes this week on why she blogs and she brought up a comment made on her site about how there was “something not quite right with [her]” and how it must be because her husband is a “liberal”. (That’s probably the last thing I’d consider labeling her husband.) Actually, I think there is “something not quite right” about a lot of us in the religious realm who blog, especially when we already have a visible role in the community.

One paragraph in particular resonates with me:

Am I cool enough so that people can see the Church as a viable addition to their hipster lifestyles? Am I conservative enough so as not to scandalize a traditional person (well- the Sound of Music is out)? Am I Eastern enough so that my tradition is better understood? Am I Western enough so as not to alienate the majority of the readers? Does my part-timer job and use of a charter school make me a fake stay-at-home mom and homeschooler? Do the cheese crunchies in my pantry make me a hypocrite after I blogged about health? So, I am going to blog for myself as a sort of journal. I’m not not blogging for Jesus and the Church, but I don’t represent the entirety of the Church (of course) so I pray that all readers see my disclaimer of sorts at the top of the page- “Jesus Christ, Son of God- have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Elisabeta (as I am dubbing “priest’s wife” for the rest of this post because I have a deathly fear of too many apostrophes) and I both occupy a position in the community that is rather unique. She is the wife of a priest at several small Byzantine Cathiolic missions. She is Father ______’s wife and whatever she does reflects on him, whether it has to do with her daughters not covering their heads in worship or it has to do with how she deals with prickly people. By the same token, I’m not “Jen” to a lot of people — I’m “Pastor Jon’s wife” and while I am in a much bigger community than I have been in his last two parishes, people still know who I am the second they hear my (incredibly unique and hyphenated) last name. I represent his parish (which I refer to as “Metanoia” on this blog) and I have to be very mindful of this in public. This means that I have to be polite to everyone, even when I would honestly like to apply a cattle prod to women who stop in the middle of an aisle at the grocery store and block the way or when I’d like to use a specific finger to let drivers on Highway 99 know what I think of their driving habits. I *try* to be extra sweet to the checkers at the grocery store and to anyone else with whom I do business, lest someone say that “the pastor’s wife at Metanoia was rude to me!!!!” and I catch flak from the church council over it.

In terms of my blogging, this is actually a blog that none of my parishioners know about (as far as I know) and I could actually use it as my personal soapbox to excoriate people for everything I believe to be a sin. However, I also know that I represent Christianity to a lot of non-Christians and Lutheranism to many believers. I could tell people that this is my own personal little haven and to find another blog if they can’t take what I dish out. Unfortunately, I seem to be somewhat of an anomaly as one who came to faith as an Episcopalian, hung out with Baptists in college, and now is married to a Lutheran pastor. I find my own company to be a bit boring so I welcome everyone who wants to come read this blog. I have never claimed this as a “Christian blog” — instead, I claim to be a blogger who is Christian and this means that those who leave comments are going to (hopefully) have a diversity of backgrounds and opinions. Having a diversity of readers is great because it means that I get a diversity of viewpoints on issues but I also have to remember that if I claim to be Christian, I have to act like it. Instead of mocking commenters with whom I disagree or being condescending, I need to either quietly delete their comments (which usually go to moderation) or be charitable.

Elisabeta and I have both dealt with criticism of ourselves via our blogs and while I can’t speak for her, I know it still rips me apart when someone very nastily criticizes me or criticizes something on my blog. For me, my blog is an extension of me — it’s where I work out a lot of things that are central to my life. I’ve also found that in this election year, people seem to be looking for a fight so anything I say on here can be used in a fight. I think this is something that makes it difficult for me (and probably for Elisabeta) to be a clergy wife — there are a lot of times when we have to smile and nod politely instead of saying what might actually be on our minds. By blogging, both of us are putting more of ourselves “out there” and we are creating even more opportunities for people to criticize us. By doing it, we also create community for ourselves. It was The Simple Woman’s Daybook that started our friendship and I’ve “met” another clergy wife through her.

So yes, there is “something not quite right” about ourselves — in “working out our salvation with fear and trembling” by blogging, we are constantly trying to find a balance between transparency and anonymity. We are setting ourselves up for people to tell us that we aren’t ________ enough but we are also unintentionally representing our faith traditions. In short, we are living out the lives God has ordained us to live and taking all of you along for the ride.

7 Quick Takes: Allergies, Cooking, and Camp Patton

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7 Quick Takes

— 1 —

I blogged on what you don’t see when you look at me for Invisible Illness Week. I try not to complain about my fibromyalgia too much because there are so many people in my life with worse ailments or who are waiting for organ transplants. Still, this week is a reminder that there are many illnesses that are just as debilitating as those that land people in wheelchairs.

— 2 —

Want to help victims of sex trafficking become whole again? I’m participating in the Run for Courage on September 29th to help raise money to do just that. I invite you to sponsor me at http://engage.runforcourage.org/goto/khouriajen.

— 3 —

Am I being clear enough?

Go away!

Just checking.

— 4 —

Daniel said “bye” to his teacher for the first time ever last Friday. This earned him thunderous applause from Daddy, a hug from his teacher, and thunderous applause/hugs and kisses from me. On Monday, he didn’t say “bye” but he waved for the first time ever.

— 5 —

I just realized I have cooking to do tonight. Thankfully, it’s pretty easy — boil water, cook orzo, toss with some defrosted pesto/feta cheese/sundried tomatoes. I usually put kalamata olives in as well but I’m trying to make it Daniel-friendly as I’m taking it to his school picnic tomorrow. (Just finished. It’s pretty quick if you can get the pesto defrosting while the orzo is cooking.) I also had laundry to cycle through.

— 6 —

Do you see that incredibly cute little boy on my sidebar? His name is Brett and he needs a mama. Could that mama be you??? Hop on over to his profile and get to know him. While you’re there, would you mind adding a little bit to his adoption grant so his forever family can take him home? Please and thank you!

— 7 —

Did I mention how much I love Camp Patton? I had read Grace’s blog on a few occasions but about a month ago, I read a good chunk of her archives while fighting some insomnia. She is incredibly funny and snarky — a double threat. Her husband Simon is an ob/gyn resident and says some *interesting* things. She’s also apparently hosting Quick Takes this week.

For more Quick Takes, visit Grace at Camp Patton.

What You Don’t See

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Invisible Illnesses Week 2012

If you were to see me walking down the street, you might see a short and heavyset woman with short brown hair and glasses. If you talk to me, you’d hear my soft voice and my valley girl accent. You’d probably see the pewter Celtic cross I’m wearing. What you don’t see, however, are the struggles I face daily.

I have fibromyalgia, an auto-immune condition that all the commercials on TV say is caused by overactive pain receptors. About half of the medical community believes it exists while the other half thinks that the believers are sloppy diagnosticians. It’s a diagnosis of exclusion in which you have to account for a number of other conditions like hypothyroidism first and for which there are no perfectly accurate blood test markers. I’m pretty much the poster child — I have a vast majority of the tender points as well as several of the associated conditions: depression, migraines, and IBS.

You might me sitting politely in church while my kid does laps around the sanctuary. What you don’t see is the stabbing pain in my shin that is migrating to my elbow nor do you see the twinges of pain in my lower back. You might hear my knees crack as I get up to catch him before he breaks something or leaves out the doors of the narthex but you’re not seeing the tears I’m fighting back because there is no painkiller on the market that can stop the pain. Gabapentin helps but it doesn’t kill all of it. On Sundays when the pain is too much, you don’t see me in church because it hurts too much to move and I’m breaking the third commandment by staying balled up in the recliner with “Winnie the Pooh” on a constant loop to keep Daniel from destroying too many things. I’m blessed to be married to a pastor who brings me Communion on almost every Sunday I miss because otherwise, I’d be pretty much cut-off from the means of grace. I’m also faced with pretty much constant fatigue and insomnia at night. This doesn’t help with the depression.

You might see me wearing sunglasses into a building, watch me walk past you, and think, “Wow… she is such a snob.” Actually, I have a migraine and light is painful. I’m out and about because we’re either out of diapers, out of Pedialyte (and Daniel is throwing up), or I’m dealing with cabin fever and just need to GET. OUT. OF. THE. HOUSE. where I’ve been for two days in a ball of photosensitive nauseated exhaustion; and the grocery store means that I can restock my supply of ramen, ginger ale, or whatever I’m eating/drinking to keep the calories going/blood sugar up while the nausea is in full force. I’m sorry that I’m not greeting you — I just want to pick up whatever it is and go hide in a dark room.

You’ve seen me scour the menu and made a snarky comment about my inability to decide or that I’m a picky eater. Actually, I’m trying to find something that isn’t going to a.) cause more inflammation or b.) trigger my IBS. Believe it or not, it’s kind of embarrassing to be out in public and feel your lower G-I seize up. If I cut a conversation short, it’s because I’m making a beeline for the nearest bathroom so I don’t end up in a humiliating situation. I know where every clean bathroom is between southern California and northern California along Highway 99 as well as every clean bathroom in my town, the town to the north, and the town to the south. I’ve ended up with muscle tears and strains trying to reach a bathroom in time. I have to actually *plan* errands with Daniel to coincide with times that are not within a specific period of time after a meal because only Trader Joe’s lets me take the cart into the bathroom with me and he’s too prone to crawling under the stall doors and making a run for it. (Did I also mention how incredibly germphobic I am? Let’s not go there.)

I seem withdrawn to you and you make snippy remarks about how the pastor’s wife is anti-social. Actually, I’m fighting the urge to stay in a ball under the covers with them pulled up over my head. On days when Jon is working and I have Daniel by myself, I’m curled up in a fetal position in the recliner debating the merits of sprinkling goldfish and Cheerios in strategic places around the living room and hallway to keep him busy while “Winnie the Pooh” is on a continuous loop. I’m probably starving but the thought of eating is too much for me. If I’m actually out in public, it’s probably because I have to eat somehow. I don’t say more than “hi” because I’m feeling too inwardly drawn to make small talk. I might even be wearing sunglasses because my eyes are red and my face is blotchy from crying.

I’m blessed to have mostly parishioners here who are understanding — I haven’t had that luxury in other places and I’ve had people tell me how snobby and anti-social I am because I either slipped out of church before they could talk to me or I didn’t hear them greet me and accidentally snubbed them because I was so focused on getting through worship with my headache pain. My husband has had to apologize to irritated people who are spitting nails because I didn’t see them in the grocery store or pharmacy and didn’t say “hi” because I was either running for a bathroom or in so much pain from a migraine that I’m in “grab and go” mode.

So please… don’t assume you know what is going on with me or with the average person on the street. Many of us have chronic conditions that we appear to hide well but are still just as real as the ones that manifest outwardly.

My Facebook Status This Morning

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Michelle, one of my Catholic chicas told me about the f-bomb party some Democrats threw for Cardinal Dolan on Twitter. This grieves my soul greatly. My first reaction when I saw the news story is not bloggable because Jesus doesn’t like it when I use those words to talk about His children. So I prayerfully and intentionally composed the following Facebook status which I’m sharing on Twitter and on here.

[I] would like to say this to those who tweeted f-bombs to Cardinal Dolan after his benediction:

Cardinal Dolan is deserving of our respect, not only because he is a cardinal nor because he is the head of the USCCB. He deserves our respect because he attended BOTH parties’ conventions, met pastorally with people from both sides, and made an effort to be congenial to President Obama despite the lawsuits going on over the HHS Mandate. He stood his ground in inviting the President to the Al Smith dinner even though he incurred the ire and wrath of a number of conservative Catholics for doing so. While I am not Catholic and I may not agree with every stance he has, I genuinely respect him because he is acting in a completely pastoral fashion in being congenial to those with whom he disagrees. Tweeting him f-bombs is juvenile and shows a complete lack of courtesy. To those who did that: learn some manners and learn from the example the Cardinal has set.

Seriously, I have mad respect for the Cardinal. I may not agree with him on some issues (fewer than some of you would think) but he does deserve the respect given to his office.